ThirtySix Months
by Elie.N.P
Summary: That night, he'd turned around and left.She thought he made love to her when, in reality, he was merely satisfying his primary instinct. That had been his truth, at that time, and was the biggest mistake of his life. Draco/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

**Here is a Draco/Hermione short story (not more than two chapters I think). The characters may be OOC, but well, they're older, and who doesn't change when they grow up?**

**I hope you'll like it - right now I'm obsessed with Draco/Hermione fanfictions, I really love their being together.**

**I apologise for my mistakes. I'm French, and I haven't had more English lessons than the ones given to me at school. I hope it won't disturb your reading too much!**

**Enjoy your reading! - and don't forget that a review always makes an author smile =)**

**Elie**

* * *

><p><span>Thirty-six months<span>

"You love me."

"I want you."

"That's the same."

"No, it's not, and you know it."

"For most of people, not for you."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because I know you."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not most of people."

"Thanks, it enlightens my day."

"You know what I mean."

"That's the problem, because I don't."

"You're not the others."

"I'm aware, anything more interesting?"

"Stop playing dumb."

"Stop making riddles."

"You're different."

"I'm who I am."

"That's why I say you love me."

"Wrong. I want you."

"It's the same."

"Damn no! It's not."

"It's the same for you."

"Why for me? Why do you say that?"

"Because I love you too, Draco Malfoy."

They'd had that conversation ages ago, yet he still remembered it clearly. It'd been the last time they'd talked together, the last time they'd seen each other.

The end of a game they'd played much too long for their own safety – and sanity. The end of a dangerous game, then the beginning of Hell, a different sort of Hell.

Life with her was Hell, but Life without her was worse.

Draco Malfoy knew he was doomed to live in Hell, to die in Hell, and then to travel to whatever other form Hell would take, for Heaven wasn't what he was meant to know and, in fact, he didn't even wish to approach it.

He liked Hell, it was his universe, his kingdom, however he wanted to choose in which he was to live. For many, Hell was one and one thing only: Hell itself, a place where they dreaded to go, for Draco Malfoy, Hell without Hermione Granger was dull and boring however, Hell with her was a place where he'd eternally remain, if only she was still by his side.

That night, he'd turned around and left. No, he wasn't in love with her. She thought he made love to her when, in reality, he was merely satisfying his primary instinct. That had been his truth, at that time, and was the biggest mistake of his life.

If only he hadn't run away, then they might be together right now. But, he had run away, not paying attention to her words, not taking her seriously when she'd told him she wouldn't leave but at one condition: he had to admit, not even that her words were true, but that they _could_ be true. He'd refused, spat some despicable words at her, and left.

His back to her, he'd not seen the tears in her eyes, nor the way her nails had dug in her skin to prevent the treacherous liquid to flood her cheeks. No, blinded by his stubbornness, he had seen nothing of that.

And when he'd finally decided there might be some truth in her words, she wasn't there any more.

No message, no clue, nothing had been left for him to find her. Hermione Granger had disappeared from his personal Hell, condemning him to experience a continual agony.

All of a sudden, the clock rang midnight, jerking him away from his thoughts, from his past, into a present he couldn't bear any more.

At twenty-four, Draco Malfoy was already certain his life was a failure. Fortune, popularity, nobility, nothing would change his mind since he'd lost the only valuable thing he'd ever possessed, his dearest possession which, in fact, couldn't be called thus, for Hermione Granger had never belonged to him – and was nothing near a mere object.

Younger, stupid and arrogant, self-confident, certain that everything'd always go his way, he should have known better than to believe she'd always stay with him, forever bearing with his childish behaviour.

The clock rang again. Draco looked at the empty glass in his hand. How much had he drunk?

Nothing indeed. The wine bottle was still on the table, meters away from him, the whiskey one still closed, and all his other alcohols were in the shelter of a locked cupboard. Truth was, he'd just spent four hours in an armchair, an empty glass in hand, all the while reminiscing about that night, and the wonderful others they'd spent together before it.

He could still feel her hands on his body, her slender fingers tenderly caressing his skin, running through his hair, touching his lips. Her tongue dancing with his, fighting it for dominance when he'd been more than willing to give in to her. Her breasts pressed against his naked chest, her legs tangled with his. Their breaths meeting, mixing, hers becoming his, and his hers.

He remembered her eyes, all the emotions which filled them when they were embracing each other, the desire which clouded them, the passion which darkened them.

Her voice, her moans of pleasure, his name rolling from the back of her throat, coming out in a seductive purr, then in voluptuous cries when they were both close to reach the most wonderful of raptures.

He saw her laying beside him, cuddling up against him, her arms around him, his around her.

He could spend hours losing himself in these memories – his dearest memories.

The clock rang half past twelve. Had he lost himself again? Certainly.

He should go to bed. He'd a lot of meetings to attend in the morning but, after all, who would care if he had not rested well? Who would frown at him, lecture him and then order him to take more care of himself? Nobody, for the one who used to do so wasn't with him any more.

She had left thirty-six months ago.

Thirty-six months of ignorance, of suffering, but he couldn't complain, he deserved it.

All he'd had to do was to admit the possibility – when it was more than a certainty indeed – of his having feelings for her, feelings different from lust and passion, stronger than friendship, stranger to hatred, and she would still be there.

However, as the fool he was, he had denied until the most obvious evidence of his harbouring such affections for her.

Perhaps, in a way, he'd still been seeing in her his childhood foe, or because the influence of his father's words hadn't totally been erased from his mind yet.

As time went by, blood purity had stopped to matter to Draco, but when the prospect of his being in love with a muggle-born, he'd had the disappointment to react as he'd always done - as a pure-blood - he had refuted such a shameful hypothesis. Because he was a Malfoy, a stupid stubborn Malfoy – as if there were men in his family who weren't thus – he had turned a deaf ear to his heart.

He'd feared his father's wrath – although, at that time, Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, not for long, but the authorities had wanted to give him an outline of where he'd have ended his life if it wasn't for his wife's courage.

He'd feared his mother would be disappointed in him – indeed she was disappointed, but not for the same reasons. Hermione Granger, Narcissa was certain, was the only witch who was worth of her son, and she would have gladly given him to her. What was blood compared to happiness? The witch with the purest blood wouldn't make her son happy, for the only woman for whom his heart beat was a brilliant muggle-born. As Draco's mother, she'd seen the changes in his son's behaviour, the smiles which appeared oftener on his face, the brightness in his eyes, and her name on his lips. She had acknowledged his feelings for the young woman long before him.

But, at twenty-one, Draco'd been too young to listen to his heart – like his mother would have liked him to do – rather than to his fears.

It'd taken Hermione and Draco three years to form a deep friendship, their seventh year at Hogwarts being the start of everything. After the Dark Lord's downfall, Draco'd been weary enough to drop his bastard-attitude and Hermione, willing to have a peaceful last year, had taken it upon herself to make a truce with him. A truce, then a partnership – the professors had paired them up in a lot of classes – and, after their graduation, a weekly correspondence. They had also decided to meet at least once every two months. Both were certain that to keep contact was a thing they had to do, or else they would regret it – they had never openly admitted it, as for many other things, they didn't need to voice them aloud for the other to know.

Hermione, in his company, learnt to be more patient, to have more self-control and to retort faster than light. Draco, on his side, learnt to be tolerant, to give up his I'm-the-best attitude, to avoid spitting hurtful words each time he wasn't pleased. Quickly, they had become indispensable to each other.

During the third year of their friendship – for it was what their correspondence had led to – they became even closer, meeting at least twice a week, mutually supporting each other in their studies. Hermione'd work in the Ministry, Draco'd inherit of his father's business. Both goals were strongly weighing on their shoulders and yet, because they were facing it together, they never broke down.

Their relationship hadn't stopped there. At twenty, they shared their first night in the arms of one another.

A wonderful, magical almost, night.

They should have stopped there, they should have agreed the exchange'd be one of their best memories and keep on with their friendship.

I think you guess it, they hadn't been able to do so.

They'd grown closer and closer, leaving their innocent relationship behind, to take a dangerous path which led them – him, mostly, for he didn't know how she was living their separation – to his ruin.

Exactly thirty-six months ago, he'd turned around and walked away, ignoring her words – her warning – certain that, later in the day, it'd be as if the conversation had never existed.

He hadn't been totally wrong, for they hadn't had the opportunity to quarrel more about that subject. And yet, how much he wished he'd been entirely wrong! How much he'd have liked to hear her tell him to stop being a stubborn brat and to listen to her! Better, he should have never walked away. He should have stayed, argued a little more, and yielded.

Then, she'd be with him.

Had he listened to his heart rather than to his fears, Hermione Granger wouldn't have left him.

He had favoured pride over happiness, leading himself to his ruin. He was the only one at fault.

Hermione was, too, proud, very proud, but she was also clever enough to know when pride had to be put aside.

Thirty-six months ago, she'd put hers aside to admit her feelings for him – to him! - for a man with so many flaws, of so many mistakes. She had yielded to her heart, her head obediently following, thus offering them - him - a chance to be happy – together.

He had missed it, and lost her. Indeed, listening to his pride had been a great idea! A stupid reflex. His condemnation. He was doomed to suffer from his own stupidity, from his own cowardice, and he couldn't blame anybody but himself.

Would have Hermione been there, she'd have told him to stop drowning in self-pity – it never helped matters. She'd have obliged him to go to bed – on seeing the late hour – and made him swear to wake up with positive thoughts in order to give a good start to his day.

Draco sadly smiled.

He, on his side, would have probably scowled at her before complying, as he always did when he knew she was right – you can imagine how often it had happened!

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't there. As much as he wished she'd appear on the chair facing him, in the door-frame he could see from the corner of his eyes, behind him if she wanted to surprise him, as much as he wanted that to happen, she remained absent.

Of course, they were wizards, not nice genies granting wishes.

"Find her!" his mother had told – screamed at – him when he'd finally dared admit his mistake. "Find her, apologise and bring her back!"

He tried, but his efforts were never rewarded with success.

Hermione'd left no trace, no clue for him to pursue her. He'd disappointed her, hurt her more than she could endure.

Draco didn't blame her for having left in fact, he was proud of her decision. She'd chosen to protect her own well-being, her future, an act of self-preservation which could have belonged to a Slytherin. He closed his eyes. Perhaps, if they'd been in different houses, if they had never been foes, things would have turned out differently.

No, he shook his head. Who was he trying to kid? He was the only one at fault. Had he been able to make his own choices rather than following a way of thinking which wasn't his, _he_ would have been able to make things turned out differently.

"Well, enough of self-pity," he mumbled while getting up from his seat.

Thirty-six months were a long time, but not long enough to allow his heart to heal. It would probably never, but it didn't mean Draco had to spend his life sitting in a hideous armchair – he couldn't remember why he had bought it but damn, it would soon leave this room.

Admittedly, his life was a failure, however he wouldn't allow it to reach the bottom of the bottoms, for he still hoped, as naïve as it was he couldn't help it, to see her again one day. And if their paths were to crossed in the future, he wanted to be able to offer her something, the prospect of a future with him, of a life with no wants. Whether she'd agree to give him a second chance, whether she'd even consider the idea, he didn't care. As long as he kept building surroundings in which he wouldn't be ashamed to welcome her, he'd have the impression, for once, to do the right thing.

What had been her life during these last thirty-six months, he didn't know, he only hoped she lacked of nothing, was happy, and, above all, hadn't forgotten him.

"I was certain to find you still awake."

Draco jumped in surprise. Immersed in his thoughts, he hadn't heard her enter.

"Mother! Something happened?" he asked with a frown. It wasn't really a proper hour for a visit of courtesy.

Narcissa shook her head no. "I only wanted to verify you were all right. I know what today is. You seem to be able to stand on your feet, I guess you're not drunk, are you?"

"Have you ever seen me drown my problems in alcohol?" he snapped.

"Never. And I'll be glad you never start," she coolly answered.

Narcissa Malfoy knew her son was strong, she also knew that he'd never do something Hermione'd disapprove of, not any more, however she remained his mother, his worried mother. She'd tried her best not to apparate in his flat, indeed she'd spent hours reading – the same page admittedly but it had nevertheless caught her attention enough to keep her at home, until the clock had rung midnight.

"Were you planning to have some rest?" she enquired, walking towards the seat he'd previously got up from.

Draco sighed. "I was about to go."

"You don't seem to be in a hurry. Sit down with me a little." It was an order, and if Draco didn't hesitate any more to defy his father's orders, he'd never dare do the same with his mother's.

Narcissa watched as her son took a seat across from her. The date wasn't the only thing making her restless. While her eyes had remained stuck on the same line for hours, her mind had been pondering on a way to break the news to her son. The bad news. In spite of all her efforts, she hadn't been able to find a way less painful than the others. Whatever would be her way of telling him, her son wouldn't take it well.

She hated seeing him suffer. Her heart was already breaking with such a prospect belonging to the near future. Even if she didn't want Draco to suffer, she'd rather be the one breaking him the dreadful news, at least she'd be by his side to support him – she would do her best.

"You know I've been trying to find her myself," Narcissa began.

She didn't need to pronounce her name for there was only one person she and her son would search for together.

Draco tensed. Of course he knew, and he was also grateful to his mother for doing so. It was really important to him. It showed his mother's approval, love. It showed him Narcissa Malfoy was ready to do anything for him, her son. Anything indeed, for she had even overcome her husband's unchanged certainties about pure-bloods' superiority.

Lucius Malfoy was far from being pleased, to say the least, by his family's affection for the muggle-born woman. However, if he didn't care about the rest of the world turning their back on him, his son and wife were another matter. The short time he'd spent in Azkaban had taught him he could give up on all his possessions, as long as he was certain his family would be with him. Therefore, although his son was unaware of that, if he had to accept a muggle-born to mix with his bloodline to keep his family by his side, he would yield without fighting. He might have been able to convince Draco to give up on the woman, but then Narcissa would have never forgiven him and hexed him to oblivion.

Finally, the choice had been easy. Besides, he had to admit – almost without grimacing – that Hermione Granger wasn't the worst woman his son could have picked out.

"I've found her, Draco," Narcissa said, her eyes never turning away from her son's.

Draco stopped breathing for a while. What was his mother saying? She had found her? Hermione? His Hermione? She had found her after thirty-six months? This was not a joke, was it?

"It's not a lie," Narcissa assured, as if she knew what he was thinking. "I took care to verify the veracity of such information. It's her, Draco, I'm certain, however-"

"Where is she?" Draco jerked up from his seat. "Is she in England? In America? She's always wanted to go to America! She is there, isn't she?"

He was now pacing back and forth in front of his mother. But how could he have failed to find her trace when he had himself been looking for her in America? Perhaps she hadn't been there yet when he had been. Perhaps she had moved recently, perhaps he'd never looked for her in the right place at the right time.

"She isn't in America Draco." His attention came back to his mother.

"Then where is she?"

Narcissa took a deep breath.

"She's been right under our nose for all these months," she finally admitted. "She is brilliant Draco." She met his eyes without batting an eyelid.

"What do you mean?"

"We didn't find her, because she didn't want us to do so," she explained further.

Draco couldn't believe her words. "What do you mean?" he repeated.

"Sit down Draco," Narcissa ordered more than she advised.

The young man did as he was told, too astonished by the news to protest.

"Hermione is in England. She lives and studies here," Narcissa started.

"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "I looked for her here! I looked all over England for her!"

"Draco!" she scolded. "For Heaven's sake calm down and listen to me!"

"But-"

"There is no but! You've hurt her Draco Malfoy, your denial that night has hurt her more than you think. She knew you'd look for her, so she made the necessary not to be found."

"But you found her so-"

"Yes," she sharply cut him off, "I know where she is. I know it because she has stopped keeping her location secret. Because she has deemed it safe to stop hiding."

Narcissa sighed. She'd have given everything she had not to tell the next words. Indeed, everything, but it wasn't possible. She had to tell him, she had to say these words which would break him. She wished his heart was a rock, but she knew it wasn't. His heart was under continual agony, and what she was about to say might achieve him.

"What do you mean?" She clenched her fists. Her son was scared, scared because he wasn't stupid, he had understood what she meant, and was now scared to know the truth.

"Draco, Hermione is going to-" She stopped, lowered her gaze to her knees, then looked back at her son. "Hermione is-" Damn to pronounce these words was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Could a mother break her son's heart without suffering?

"Mother," her eyes went back to Draco – she hadn't realised she'd lowered her head again. "Please, what do you know about Hermione?"

Draco knew he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear, but he had to, if he wanted to repair his mistakes, he had to know the truth about her current situation, he would work things out from there.

"She is going to marry." Her voice had been barely above a whisper.

**TBC !**


	2. Chapter 2

**I hope you'll enjoy your reading ! =) **

**Thanks for your visits, and don't hesitate to review ;)**

**Elie**

* * *

><p>"Who?" was the only word Draco could utter.<p>

Narcissa got up from her seat and knelt beside her son, taking his hands in hers, firmly holding them.

"Who?" he repeated, his face paler than usual.

"Ron Weasley."

A dagger wouldn't have pierced his heart better than that name had. He saw his mother's lips move, she was still talking but he couldn't understand her words.

Ron Weasley married to Hermione Granger, _his_ Hermione married to the Weasel! Wouldn't he have been seated, the idea would have made him collapse on the floor for all strength had left him. His hands were limp in his mother's, limp and cold, so much than Narcissa thought he'd fallen sick from the shock.

"Draco?" she tentatively called. "Draco, my dear, did you hear me? I know how hard it must be, but don't let yourself be overwhelmed. It's not over yet. Draco? Draco do you hear me?"

She got no answer. She'd been expecting him to feel heart-broken, but she'd hoped he'd still be able to listen to her. The marriage wasn't the sole information she'd given him, and yet she knew, since suffering was written all over his face, that he hadn't heard the most important thing.

She lightly pulled him to her, he felt from his seat, in her arms, like a rag-doll and wound her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry Draco," she whispered in his ear. "But you have to listen to me, it's not over yet."

Draco didn't react. He couldn't. His mind had just stopped working. Hermione was going to marry, she was going to be a wife, the Weasel's wife. If he hadn't entirely lost her yet, now it was done. Now, all hope was lost. Now, now...

"Draco? Please talk to me," Narcissa pleaded. She couldn't bear to see her son in such an agony.

He moved back a little to meet her eyes. "I've lost her Mother. I've lost her."

A wave of terror washed over her, and she slapped her son as hard as she could. She needed to get him back, back to his usual-self before the pain sank too deep and permanently damaged his heart.

"Don't ever talk to me with that tone Draco Malfoy!" she roared. "Understood? Never! I don't ever want to hear such a pitiful tone coming from you again! You're Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's son, you're Draco Malfoy! Pull yourself together! I can understand your pain. It's normal to suffer, but I forbid you to fall so low as to think everything is lost when it's not!"

She was trembling with rage. Angry with herself for not having been able to show more self-control, angry with her son for giving up so quickly, and with Hermione for doing such a stupid thing as trying to marry another man than her son!

"She isn't married yet," she stated in a calmer voice. No reaction. "Draco," she sighed, "do you care so little for her that you're ready to give up on her as soon as a small obstacle appears?"

Draco gasped in surprise. "So little? I've looked for her for thirty-six bloody months! Would I have done that if I cared so little for her in your opinion? And a small obstacle? You call a marriage a small obstacle?" he shouted. "Has your mind gone crazy?"

"Not in the least, dear. But I'm glad yours works again," Narcissa scoffed.

She wasn't proud of her words, but they had successfully pulled her son out of his trance, she therefore didn't regret them.

"What are you planning to do Draco?" she asked him.

"What do you want me to do?" he mumbled while running a hand through his hair.

"Don't you think you should meet?"

He sat back on the floor, his mother kneeling in front of him, folded his hands on his lap then remained focused on them.

"What do you want me to do when she obviously doesn't want me in her life any more?"

Narcissa cupped his chin to raise his head. "Draco Malfoy, I told you it's not over yet. She isn't married, and, if you have listened to me you'd have heard, I don't think she has stopped thinking about you."

Draco shook his head, ready to protest. She didn't give him time to do it.

"You know her and the Weasley well enough, do you think they really want to marry? Do you think they really want to risk their friendship into a marriage?" She wanted him to understand by himself, but she was starting to doubt it'd be possible.

Her son could really be dense sometimes.

Draco had no answer to her questions. He didn't want to think about her relationship with the Weasel.

He hated not being in control. He hadn't had the control over the past thirty-six months, but then, he'd still been hoping she'd come back to him one day. Now that she was going to belong to another, he didn't even have hope any more. He loathed that.

Hermione would belong to the Weasel, he would possess her, he would-

"That won't happen," he firmly said, first looking at his hands, then raising his head to meet her mother's eyes. "I won't let him have her."

Narcissa slightly smiled. Finally, her son was back, still dense, but back, which was the principal.

"I'll tell you where she is," she told him before he even asked. "But there is something else you must know. It's only my opinion, but I'd like you to listen to it this time."

Draco nodded.

"I think Hermione is lost. I think Ron Weasley is only trying to help her as well as he can. By means of that marriage, and even if it's stupid, he means to prove his friendship to her."

"He's been her friend longer than I have," Draco commented.

Narcissa shook her head. "Time doesn't matter when it's about love. I may not be Hermione's mother, but as well as I understood your feelings for her before you did, I witnessed hers. She was in love with you Draco, enough to be hurt by your denial, too much to forget you so quickly."

"It's been thirty-six-"

"Bloody months," she finished instead of him. "I know Draco. I know. But it's a short time when you consider she stopped concealing her location only recently, a month ago at most. It's too short not to be noticed."

"What are your thoughts exactly?"

She got up from the floor, dusted her clothes before talking again.

"I went to see her, from afar," she added when her son frowned. "She doesn't look happy Draco. She doesn't look like a soon-to-be-married woman. There is something wrong going on."

"Like what?"

"I already said it, I think she marries for peace."

"Peace?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by she marries for peace? What has been her life till now, a war?" He grimaced. "I don't understand what you mean at all, about her, about the Weasel and their friendship. It makes no sense."

"I mean peace of mind.," Narcissa tried again. "With that marriage I think she wants, no, she hopes to mollify her heart."

Draco still didn't understand. To mollify her heart? But if she had been in such torments why hadn't she come back to him? She could have made him pay his cowardice, beaten him, lectured him, and then they'd have gone through that mess together.

Did she deem it easier to flee him for thirty-six months and then to marry another man than to face him? Nonsense.

"It doesn't make sense Mother. Hermione is intelligent, she'd never do such a thing as to marry the Weasel if she didn't love him." He winced. There had to be love between them, or else she'd never agreed to get engaged.

Narcissa laughed, the naivety of her son was too much for her to restrain herself. "My Draco! Of course Hermione's intelligent, but when it comes to love, even the most intelligent woman loses all common sense."

"Love, love and love, you think all is about love."

"Well, isn't it the truth?" she regained her seriousness. "My son, trust me, if Hermione was in love with that man, she'd have stopped hiding a long time ago."

"She did stop hiding," he pointed out.

"She stopped _after_ their marriage had been made public. If she had been so confident, she'd have stopped _before_ their union had even been envisaged."

Her explanations weren't helping him at all. Narcissa caught his lost look and held back a sigh. Malfoy men were definitely all the same. Quick to draw their wand, slow to understand women's heart.

"If Hermione was so certain about her love for the Weasley man, then she wouldn't have concealed her location from you, for if you had found her, if you had faced her, she wouldn't have come back to you, she'd have stayed by that man's side even though they weren't married, or engaged, but she did conceal where she was, because she feared, for she knew it to be certain, she would go with you if you were to find her, thus taking the risk to be hurt again."

Narcissa hopefully glanced at her son and was relieved when understanding seemed to dawn on him, at least she thought because his eyes were now wide open.

"You don't need to fight for her love, Draco, you need to fight for her trust, that's different. Don't forget that, no matter what you'll hear, don't forget that she still loves you."

"What if you're wrong?" he suddenly asked. "What if, pardon me but it may be true, what if you've misunderstood her completely? What if she really loves the Weasel?"

It took her several seconds to find a good answer. "Then you'll just make a big fool of yourself," she said at last. "And will probably not want to see me again before a long time. But I'll always be your mother, and eventually you'll pardon me, and talk to me again. And your father will be more than pleased to be right when I'm wrong." She frowned. "Dear son, I hope I'm right for I certainly won't support your father if I'm wrong."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. He knew better than to doubt his mother's words and, in a way, felt relieved to see her so confident about Hermione's love for him.

"A mother is always right, isn't she?" he smiled.

Narcissa gracefully shrugged. "I can't tell about the others, but about me, there is no doubt Draco."

Draco's smile grew wider. Narcissa felt as if she could finally breathe normally again.

Her son was definitely back.

"I'll tell you where she is," she glanced at the clock, "but you must rest before. I believe I've left some belongings in your guest room, I'll stay there, sleep a little and as soon as I wake up, I'll tell you, is that all right?"

No, it wasn't all right. Draco wanted to know right now. He wanted to be by Hermione's side, to get her away from the Weasel's hands, immediately and, honestly, he didn't give a damn about the hour!

"You must sleep," Narcissa firmly repeated.

He looked at her and decided against trying to argue. Narcissa Malfoy wasn't a woman you could make easily waver. She had decided her son needed to sleep, then her son would get some sleep. Period.

She had been married to Lucius Malfoy way too long not to know how to make things go _her_ way. Narcissa was respected by her husband because she'd never hesitated to face him, she'd never backed away from a confrontation with him, never hidden her opinion from him. If she wasn't afraid to stand up to the older Malfoy, the younger was certainly not going to make her yield, much less when it concerned his welfare.

"Goodnight Mother," Draco said while getting up from the floor. "Please, just don't sleep in."

"It's not in _my_ habits to do so," she replied with a slight smirk.

Draco saw his own smirk in his mother's, or rather understood he had inherited it from both his parents, and not only from his father as he had always thought.

Hermione was pacing back and forth inside her room. She was making the worst mistake of her life. Well, technically, she hadn't made it yet, but was about to do so in less than two days.

Married, she was getting married to Ron Weasley, one of her dearest friends. She was to become Mrs Hermione Granger Weasley, for she refused to give up on her name. But did she really want to have _his_ name? She wasn't sure.

In fact, Hermione had no certainties. Hadn't she just deemed that marriage to be the biggest mistake of her life? Then while was she still planning to marry Ron? Shouldn't she stop everything while it was still possible?

She knew Ron loved her the same way she loved him, and they were both aware it wasn't a love which usually led to a marriage. They shouldn't get married, and yet everything was ready for them to be.

Why hadn't she just disappeared from England, gone to America like she had so often wished to do?

"Because it'd have taken you far away from him," a little voice nagged her.

Hermione sighed while collapsing on her bed. Even though she wished the voice was wrong, she knew it couldn't be closer to the truth.

"I'm a fool," she murmured, her hands hiding her eyes. Perhaps if she pressed hard enough on them she wouldn't cry.

She knew he'd look for her, and it should have been enough. She should have waited a little, perhaps one or two months, and then gone back to him. If two months hadn't discouraged him, she could have deemed his feelings to be as strong as she'd deemed – hoped - them to be. Of course she could have, but her heart had been suffering too much at that time for her to consider his feelings.

The pain had been too strong for her to forgive him his denial even if, obviously, he had quickly changed his mind.

Hermione frowned under her hands. No, she couldn't say that, she couldn't tell if he'd really changed his mind. Perhaps he'd only wanted her back as a friend – sometimes as a lover – but not as more.

She could have showed more courage and faced him, asked him directly, but to see him had been above her strengths.

She used to be a brave woman, except when Draco Malfoy was concerned.

She'd been brave enough to forgive him his childhood beliefs, to befriend him and then, had become too weak not to fall in love with him, not to think he was making love to her - not merely sleeping with her. Weak, Draco Malfoy had made her weak, broken her heart, made her suffer and yet... yet she couldn't hate him, or be indifferent to him, worse, she _still_ _loved_ him.

Draco Malfoy was a demon, a snake who had coiled around her heart and wouldn't free it.

Thirty-six months had passed since she had last seen him. Thirty-six bloody months, it was what it'd taken her to make a decision, to choose to marry Ron. Her choice was definitely more led by pain than love.

Hermione was weary of suffering, weary of waiting for him to find her when she knew it was impossible, since she was making it impossible, or rather had made it so. She hadn't thought his denial would be so terrible for her to endure, but it'd revealed to be more than she could bear.

Her pain had been proportional to her love. Her love had been immense, so had been her pain.

The pain was still present, so was her love.

It was an unending circle to which, by marrying Ron, she hoped she could create an end.

Her friends knew everything about Draco, about that night, thirty-six months ago. They'd done their best to support her, to raise her spirits. It'd taken her a long time before smiling again, but they'd never judged her. Though they didn't like the man, if she loved him, they wouldn't doubt her feelings, wouldn't comment them.

Eventually, she'd started to smile, to laugh, to enjoy herself again. However the pain had never totally disappeared. They all knew it, for she'd never denied it.

The pain was there, but it didn't prevented Hermione from living.

To drown in self-pity wasn't in her habits. She'd learn to deal with it and do her best to be happy, as much as she could be without him by her side.

Months had passed and now Hermione was weary of hiding. Besides, she'd soon start her work at the Ministry, to conceal her location would then become utterly impossible.

Her heart had been broken, she needed to protect it. Ron'd offered his help, she'd agreed.

Married, she'd be able to convince her heart it belonged to Ron, she'd keep that idea in mind and, although she'd always know it was a lie, he, Draco, wouldn't know. He'd stop pursuing her. She'd stop fearing she might meet him. And then, little by little, she'd perhaps be able to erase him from her heart. Never entirely, for she knew it to be impossible, but enough to give Ron a chance.

Ron loved her enough to be certain he'd be able, in the future, to change his fraternal love into the one which was required between a husband and his wife. Then, after that change, they'd learn to be a couple together. They'd support each other and wouldn't fail to have a happy marriage.

To be married might not have belonged to their plans, but it did now, and Ron'd do his best to be a good husband – he knew Hermione'd be a perfect wife, she only needed to get Malfoy out of her head, and to decrease his importance in her heart.

"Hermione?"

"Come in Ginny," she allowed while sitting up properly, her legs hanging from the side of her bed.

She smiled back at her ginger-haired friend when she crossed the threshold of her room.

"Have you been crying?" Ginny asked while sitting near her friend.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Do you see tears on my face?"

"No, but your eyes are red. I know what it means."

"I wasn't crying."

"You were about to."

"No I-"

"Don't deny it," Ginny gently cut her off. She took her hands between hers. "Hermione, I'm your friend, aren't I?"

The older woman looked startled. "Of course Ginny!" she exclaimed. "Are you doubting it?"

Ginny quickly waved her friend's worry away. "No, of course not, I know I'm your friend. There is no doubt but," she trailed off.

Hermione changed the position of their hands, now pressing Ginny's in hers. "But?" she inquired. "You know you can tell me everything."

Ginny gazed at their hands. "I know," she whispered. "However I don't know if it's my role to say what I want to say."

"If one of my best friends doesn't dare tell me what is on her mind, who will do it?"

"You're not going to marry Ron," Ginny suddenly blurted out, keeping her eyes fixed on their hands. "You're not going to marry him because you can't make him suffer, and I know he knows you don't love him, and he doesn't love you either, not in _that_ way. I know his feelings will change, but not yours. And it'll make him suffer, even if he won't ever admit it."

She stopped, raised her head to meet Hermione's eyes, witnessed their being blank, then turned hers back to their hands.

"You won't bear to make him suffer. I think... I think it's better if you don't marry at all," she whispered with difficulty, she had a lump in her throat.

She had never thought that marriage was a good idea, but had kept silent, until now, because it'd seemed to be the best thing to do.

"I'm sorry I said nothing before," she apologised. "But, after seeing you go through all the preparations, I... I'm sure you won't be happy. That marriage, you don't want it. You know, if you stop everything now, Ron won't be angry, rather relieved, and he'll still be your friend, he'll always be your friend. I'll always be, and so will Harry. I have more names to quote but it'll be a waste. Hermione," she met her friends' eyes again, "you know we'll always be there for you. It doesn't matter if you need more time to recover, to forget him. We'll be there. You don't need to rush things. You can... you must take your time."

Hermione didn't hold back her tears - she wouldn't have succeeded anyway. Everything Ginny had just said was right, more than right, for it was the exact truth.

She buried her head into her friend's shoulder. "I'm lost Ginny," she sobbed. "I'm totally lost."

Ginny was gently caressing her back. "No, you're not. Hermione, I think you know what you want to do. You know what your heart wants you to do."

"You sound to be more mature than me," Hermione slightly laughed. "You're wiser Ginny."

"I've the best model," she smiled.

"I can't imagine how I'd be if I were to be separated from Harry," she added after several minutes of silence. "I'd probably not be able to be as strong as you are. I'd fall to the bottom and stay there."

Hermione moved away from her friend, shaking her head. "I'm not strong at all Ginny," she sadly smiled. "I'm a coward."

"You're human," Ginny retorted.

The brunette laid back on her bed. "Do you think your mother will hate me?"

"Not at all. She loves you," Ginny answered, understanding her marriage was the subject again.

"And Ron?"

"He'll be relieved! God Hermione!" she burst into laughter. "He is terrorised!"

A small smile stretched Hermione's lips, then almost as soon as it'd appeared it disappeared. Ginny didn't make any comment, she was certain there would be no marriage now.

"Do you want me to tell everyone?"

Hermione shook her head no. "It's fine. I can do it."

"When do you plan to do it?"

"Now?" Hermione jumped on her feet.

"The sooner the better," Ginny agreed. "Besides I fear we might find Ron unconscious somewhere in town if we wait longer."

It was Hermione's turn to burst into laughter. "It's totally him."

They walked together to the door. "Your brother is really too sweet. He'd have married me without thinking about his own happiness."

"He loves you."

Hermione nodded. She was glad to be surrounded by such wonderful friends.

"He isn't the only one."

Both women froze in shock. They were alone, weren't they?

"Miss Weasley, may I speak to Miss Granger in private?"

Ginny turned around. She wouldn't trust her ears, but how could she doubt her ears _and_ her eyes?

"Miss Weasley," Draco bowed.

She instinctively stepped in front of Hermione. "What are you doing here?"

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is the third and last part of Thirty-Six Months I hope you'll enjoy reading it. **

**I hope you won't be startled by their reactions. Keep in mind that they're in love (OOC too) and that people in love often act strangely. **

**Thanks for your review (there are never enough of them ^^ ) Enjoy your reading !**

**Elie**

* * *

><p>"It's been a very long time, hasn't it? I'm pleased to see you, very pleased. Now, Miss Weasley, would you please leave me alone with Miss Granger?"<p>

Ginny glanced at her friend. Was it safe to leave her? As much as she wanted these two to talk, she didn't know if now was the good time. Hermione had just renounced to marry Ron, she'd no shield any more to hide behind.

She was about to talk when Hermione squeezed her hand. "It's all right Ginny. Can you go and tell everyone? I'll join you later."

Hermione had spoken with a calm she was far from feeling.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

Ginny glanced at Draco, back at Hermione, then sighed in defeat. It had to happen one day, the sooner the better after all.

"Call if you need." She kissed Hermione's cheek, then bowing a little to the man "Draco," she said without animosity, before leaving the room.

She'd make sure not to walk too far away.

Hermione waited for the door to be closed before turning to face Draco. Truth was, if she'd been shocked to hear his voice, she wasn't really surprised to see him.

She knew, since she'd stopped concealing her location, that he would find her. However she'd had no idea about when he'd appear in front of her, and in her room, two days before her now-cancelled-marriage was certainly not the time she'd have thought of his coming.

They were now facing each other. Draco had his back to the window, arms folded on his chest, his hair slightly ruffled – he'd run his hands through it, she guessed, he always did it when he was nervous. She found herself unable to look anywhere else but at his mesmerising silver eyes.

He was staring at her, she stared back. She wouldn't turn away. She had already fled too much.

Draco was using every ounce of his self-control not to hug her. He was aching to erase the distance between them, to touch her, to kiss her. He wanted to feel her, as a proof of her not being a vision. During the past thirty-six months, he'd imagined their reunion, thought he'd caught a glimpse of her, thought he'd sensed her around, to sum up, he had been deceived by his own mind too many times for him not to be wary.

His mother had woken up very early, for she knew she'd find him pacing back and forth in his study. She'd told – ordered – him to eat breakfast and after only had she revealed where Hermione was.

As soon as the words had reached his ears, Draco'd gone to London, where Hermione was renting a house with Harry Potter, the Weasel and his sister – now also known as Mrs Potter.

To appear in her room, right when she and her friend had had their back to the window, was due to chance.

To hear her marriage was called off – also due to chance - had made his heart swell with hope. It seemed his mother was right - he should stop doubting her opinion.

Perhaps he should speak - to know the truth – rather than silently staring at the woman owning his heart.

"No more marriage?" Had he not had strong control over his body, he'd have slapped himself. Thirty-six months of silence, thirty-six months of playing their reunion again and again in his mind, of thinking about what he'd say, of how he'd apologise, and _these_ were his first words to her?

Hermione surprised him by smiling, a small smile, but a smile nevertheless.

"No," she shook her head. "No more marriage." She was relieved her voice wasn't failing her for she'd doubted she'd be able to pronounce a sound while facing him.

"Do you love him?" Stop joking! Who had taken control of him? How could it be that he was only saying the _wrong_ things!

"Yes." He felt as if he was wavering. "And he loves me," Hermione continues, refusing to lie. "But it's a fraternal love."

He stopped feeling dizzy.

The night before, or rather in the morning, Draco'd gone through a lot of different emotions. He'd been happy – finally he was about to see her again! - angry – why hadn't she given him a second chance? - sad – if his mother was wrong it was over – and, what had overcome all the others, anxious.

How would she react? How would _he_ react? Would he be able to remain calm? Wasn't there a risk for the old Draco Malfoy to wake up? The Draco Malfoy who used to be violent while angry, violent and mean, cruel even. He didn't want to take it out on her, but he feared he wouldn't be able to prevent it.

Now that he was facing her, he realised his fears weren't found. He couldn't be angry, much less violent, for all he craved to do was embracing her. It reassured him greatly. His efforts hadn't been in vain, he hadn't fancied himself to be more mature, he'd really gained in maturity. Little by little, Draco Malfoy had freed himself from his demons, not from all, but from the most annoying ones, it was a certainty. Everything in order to become more worthy of her.

"Why?" Finally, useful words were getting out of his mouth. "Why didn't you let me find you?"

As much as she wanted to avert her eyes, Hermione didn't turn away. She owed him the truth, and apologies.

She'd left because of him, of his stubbornness, but could that explain thirty-six months of silence? No, it couldn't.

She'd been as stubborn as him, and had acted like a selfish brat. She'd kept him at bay to protect her heart. She'd been certain, after that night, that he wouldn't change, she'd failed to trust him. She'd failed to be tolerant. It was normal for him to be scared. Hadn't she been asking him to go against all he'd always believed in? To defy his friends' beliefs - most of them thought their friendship depended only on a whim of Draco, nothing meant to last, nothing to be worried about ( nobody had told them about their passionate nights of course), to stray from the path he should, belonging to the Malfoy clan, follow?

She'd asked him to forget everything but her and feelings, she had realised later, he hadn't probably pondered on yet at that time. Draco'd been willing to change, but she should have known better than to urge him for he was used to adapting slowly to novelty.

Hermione knew that and yet, she'd run away and fled during thirty-six bloody months, thirty-six agonising months without thinking Draco might be experiencing the same agony.

Paralysed by the pain and the fear she might suffer more if she came back, she'd hidden herself from him. An intelligent combination of magic, spells, charms and the help of her friends had allowed her to successfully do so.

Hermione'd fled a pain to endure another. She'd chosen his absence over his presence. Don't you think it's stupid?

Hermione did, now. She should have chosen to suffer with him rather than alone. He might have caused her more suffering, but he'd have been there to make up for it.

"I was scared," she confessed.

Draco took a step forward. She was still scared, he could see it in her eyes. He was craving to pull her in his arms, to hug her tightly against his chest, to kiss her, yet he'd hold back, as long as he wasn't certain, he wouldn't take more steps. He couldn't afford to be too bold and screw everything again.

"What are you afraid of?" he murmured. There was no use for the past, the past was their ruin, the present their hope.

He already knew the answer, he was certain he knew, then why had he asked?

"To be hurt." Her eyes never left his. "Again."

Draco inwardly winced. He was right. Damn.

"Why didn't you let me a chance to apologise?"

Hermione frowned, not liking the obvious reproach in his tone. Draco imitated her. Why was she frowning? Was his question a wrong one?

"Don't you think I had the right not to want to see you after you almost told me I'd never be more than a friend with who you'd sleep from time to time. You even made me doubt I was your friend! I had the impression to be your... a good deed! As if you needed me to amend your faults, as if you needed me as your muggle-born friend, 'See who is' or rather, '_what_ is my friend, then I'm not a despicable man!' but nothing more."

"I don't-"

"It wouldn't have hurt so much," she cut him off without even realising he'd spoken, "if you'd only rejected me. Because I'd have been able to stay by your side, to give you – us – another chance. I knew you'd certainly need time to accept your feelings, and I knew _you_ enough to be certain you had feelings for me. But, you gave me the impression I was nothing. I didn't matter to you at all. I had the impression our friendship had been a joke from the start and that, Draco, I couldn't, didn't, bear it."

Hermione stopped, panting – she had scarcely breathed between her words. She needed to calm down. Draco – it had felt so oddly good to say his name again – wasn't the only one at fault, she couldn't allow herself to forget it. But it was so easy to get carried away when that night was broached!

He'd really given her the impression of being nothing more than what all his friends thought, a whim. A mere whim which wouldn't last because no whim ever lasted long.

Draco's friends hadn't been too worried by his rapprochement with the brilliant witch; unlike her friends.

Hermione'd never hidden from them that something was slowly building between her and the Slytherin young man. They hadn't been really enthusiastic to say the least, mostly Harry and Ron, who couldn't believe she was willingly spending time with the despicable ferret, Ginny, on her side, had preferred to calmly voice her fears. If Hermione'd been slightly offended by the boys' reaction – didn't they know her well enough to trust her? - she'd appreciated Ginny's honesty and reserve.

The younger girl had wanted to understand before rejecting the idea. Admitting her fears to Hermione, she'd given her friend the opportunity to convince, to justify the want to create such a link with a human-being with whom she had been quarrelling for years.

It hadn't been easy to explain, but Hermione had finally succeeded in changing Ginny's mind about Draco. She would give him a chance, and try to plead his cause to Harry and Ron.

To make them stop interfering in their exchanges hadn't been a piece of cake. Hermione could still recall how many times they had appeared in the library where she'd been studying with the Slytherin boy, how many times they had followed her to make sure she wasn't going to meet him.

Eventually, Harry and Ron had grown tired of such a surveillance – and had endured so many lectures from Hermione – that they'd accepted to envisage such a possibility as their friend wanting to spend time with Draco Malfoy not to be a bad joke.

As Draco'd slowly become more present in Hermione's life, Harry, Ron and Ginny had learnt to do with it. The boys had even agreed to stop fighting with him! - as long as the Slytherin didn't tempt them of course.

However, on his friends' side, it hadn't been the same. A whim remained a whim, no matter how long it lasted. Draco's friendship – the word had difficulties to pass their lips – with the Gryffindor witch had been deemed to be a crisis which would soon be forgotten.

Therefore, none of them had been surprised when Hermione Granger had disappeared from Draco's life, but his despair had astonished them.

How could Draco Malfoy be in such a pitiful state because of a muggle-born woman? Nonsense. The crisis was simply going on. There was no need to be worried. And so they weren't.

Unlike Narcissa, none of them but a few acknowledged that Draco's happiness depended on Hermione's presence by his side, then rare were the ones who tried to find clues about her location. Those were the only one Draco was now considering as friends. The others had disappeared from his life, like they should have done, thirty-six months ago, instead of her.

Draco didn't know how to reply. It seemed impossible to him to apologise now for he didn't see how he could possibly do it, where should he start and which words should he say to convey his deepest feelings, his true feelings?

Hermione suddenly lowered her head. "I'm sorry," she said in a murmur so low that, at first, Draco thought he hadn't heard well.

Why would she be the first to apologise when his faults were obviously the biggest?

"I'm sorry," she repeated, still not meeting his eyes.

It bothered not to look at him – she hated that when people avoided her gaze, it gave her the impression they weren't sincere – but it was above her strengths.

"I've been ridiculous. I shouldn't have hidden so long. But I... I... I just couldn't come back. I've been so sure I knew you and you made me doubt it so strongly that I couldn't... I... I just couldn't..."

Her words weren't making any sense, at least to her, because to Draco, they were all he needed to be sure he still had – always had – an importance place in her heart. And it was that power he had over her, by means of her heart, which had pushed her to hide.

She'd remained hidden thirty-six months, hoping time and distance would decrease his importance to her.

Thirty-six months of absence and silence, of torments.

"For nothing," he breathed.

Her head jerked up.

"You and I," he continued a little louder, "we never trusted each other totally. I wanted to be your friend, but couldn't overcome my prejudice. On your side, you wanted to be my friend too, but couldn't erase all the mistrust I roused in you. We weren't rid of the reasons which had made us foes."

The truth was finally dawning on him.

They'd wanted to be friends but had always unconsciously remained foes.

The Gryffindor Bookworm and the Slytherin Ferret had never left Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, not until now, after all these months.

"We're both at fault, aren't we?"

Draco nodded.

"You shouldn't have reacted that way, and I shouldn't have run away," Hermione summed up.

He acquiesced.

"Stupid and childish," she continued. "We've suffered for thirty-six months because of our stupid childish behaviours."

"You really won't marry?" he didn't need to hear what he already knew, and he shouldn't ask a question when he already knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure.

Her features softened. "I won't."

"You really don't love the- Weasley?"

"I do love you, because he is like a brother to me. "

"So, there is still a possibility for us to be?"

There was hope in his voice. A hope his mother had roused, what he'd heard had made grow, and which her words were encouraging. Her words and soon her actions for she had suddenly her arms wound around his neck.

"Trust and love are different," she sobbed in his neck, wishing for him to understand what she meant.

Surprised would have frozen him if his instincts hadn't taken the lead, screaming at him to hug her back, to yield to what he'd been craving to do for the past thirty-six months.

Draco did as he was screamed to do.

Hermione felt herself being pushed closer to him. His hair, his scent, his skin, nothing had changed. It was as if she'd never left his embrace.

Their hearts were beating at the same rhythm, as if directly communicating in spite of the obstacles which were their clothes and skin. They'd probably never ceased to follow the same pattern, to tell the same story, perhaps now a little faster than usual for the main characters were finally meeting again.

Hermione buried her head in the crook of his neck, Draco buried his in her hair.

For the first time since that dreadful night thirty-six months ago, their pain was decreasing. A pain they'd always shared without knowing it. The weight on their shoulders, the knot in their stomach, the scar of their heart, everything seemed to go back to what it was before.

A total recovery was impossible but it didn't matter. They wouldn't have wanted it that way. To go back to what they had been three years ago would condemn them to make the same mistakes. They were doomed to make mistakes of course, but not to repeat those they'd already suffered from.

They'd partially recover, some wounds totally disappearing, the others becoming scars, obvious at first, then less and less visible. They'd learn to live with those painful memories, keeping them in a corner of their mind, but not continually focusing on them.

"Trust will grow, all we need is time," he whispered in her ear.

"It already exists," she acquiesced. Her heart was swelling with relief, they were on the same wavelength.

Something which didn't exist couldn't possibly grow, it needed to be born first. Between them, trust had already been born, this step had already been taken. Their trust had been clumsy, far from being total, but it had been there nevertheless and, above all, was still present.

"Hermione," Draco moved away a little, "do I need to tell how stupid I was? How despicable I acted? How big my lie had been when I told you I wasn't making love to you?"

His thumbs brushed small circles on her cheeks. "Do I need to tell you how much I love you? How much I need you?"

He kissed her nose, she was too tempting.

"Do I need to describe how much I suffered without you?"

He kissed her forehead.

"Do I need to tell you how much I missed you? How much I wanted to find you, to apologise, to bring you back? Back to my side, back in my life." His hands moved to tangle in her hair. "I'm a stupid stubborn childish fool."

A small smile graced Hermione's face. Draco was about to speak again but she swiftly cut him off, gently placing two fingers on his mouth, lightly caressing his lips at the same time.

"My turn," she murmured. "Do you know how much I regretted not to have slapped you?" He grimaced, her fingers moved to brush his cheek. "Because I thought it'd have shocked you out of your anger, out of your stubbornness. Then, do you know how much I regretted not to have slapped myself to shock me out of my stubbornness in getting stupid confessions from you? I should have waited for you to be ready. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have rushed things."

Draco caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

"I've always been slow to understand, it's a Malfoy thing apparently, or so says my mother."

Hermione let out a little laugh. "I love your mother."

"She loves you too," Draco seriously replied. "I'm here thanks to her. Oddly enough, I think she trusts us more than we do ourselves."

"Do you think she is right?"

He studied her eyes. They were full of hope, and it was a good thing, because his eyes, he was certain, held that same feeling.

"Mothers are always right. Well, I can't say it's really true for the others, but for her, I doubt I will ever say Narcissa Malfoy is wrong."

Their laughs joined in a beautiful melody.

Hermione's eyes were sparkling with happiness. They didn't need further explanations, justifications or apologies. They'd suffered enough, it was useless to open their wounds again.

They wanted to be together, then they would be together. Period.

"But your father won't be pleased," she suddenly pointed out.

Draco put her arms around his neck, pulling her tightly against his chest.

"Don't worry about him. Narcissa Malfoy isn't only always right, she also has the power to make anyone yield to her desire, especially my father," he said in a half-joking, half-serious tone.

"And your friends?"

He grimaced a little. "I wouldn't call them like that any more, they've never deserved that title. Well, among the people who were belonging to my acquaintances at that time, only a few of them are still by my side today. Don't be sorry," he added, he'd caught the worry in her eyes. "It's better thus. But, I dare say _your_ friends won't be happy to see me back."

Hermione seemed to think a little, a frown on her face, before she brightly smiled at him. "Ginny won't say anything, in fact I dare say she'll be pleased. Harry will probably argue a little, not too much though. As for Ron... well..." Draco grimaced again, what would the Weasel do to him? "He'll also be happy and surely tell you it took you long enough," she finally said, amused by his expression.

"Really?"

"Really," she nodded.

He caressed her cheek. He couldn't take his hands, and eyes, off from her.

"It's true." His breath on her skin felt wonderful. "It took me long enough."

"It took _us_ long enough," she corrected.

He smiled. "We'll make things right?"

"Of course."

"We'll never part again?"

"Never."

"Can I kiss you?"

"You have to."

His lips on hers, his tongue dancing with hers, his hands discovering her body again, his body offered to hers, she had missed everything in him.

Hermione Granger had missed Draco Malfoy as much as she felt he had missed her.

She knew things would be all right from now on. It wouldn't be perfect, but she couldn't care less.

Perfection was boring and belonged to Heaven.

Draco Malfoy was a demon and he belonged to Hell, then so did she.

Each one on their side, they had gone through thirty-six months of dreadful solitude.

Together, they would go through anything.

**The End.**


End file.
